


Life in Full Bloom

by Cynical0rang3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Possessive Tom Riddle, Powerful Harry Potter, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-14 03:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynical0rang3/pseuds/Cynical0rang3
Summary: Harry Potter is known for reckless decisions. But never could he have expected the outcome of a choice made out of pity and compassion. To the ire of Fate (but glee of Death), Harry sets things in motion that not only rewrites his destiny, but the destiny of everyone in the Wizarding World.Or in other words, a gratuitous Harry raises Tom fanfic.





	1. Chapter One

December 31, 1932

It was cold and miserable, only emphasizing the dreary atmosphere that befell London on this last day of the year.

From his room on the fourth floor of Wool's Orphanage, Tom Riddle stared out into the distance at the indeterminable figures wandering in the fog. He is very hungry; the tasteless gruel served during lunch hardly filling especially not after nearly four hours. Pressing small hands against a growling stomach, Tom huddled tighter underneath a threadbare blanket.

Today, Tom turned six - though he looked smaller and thinner than he should - and much like past birthdays, it would seem that the day would pass by with just as much fanfare as it had in the past. Which is to say, none at all. The birthdays of orphans are rarely acknowledged, especially not that of a disliked orphan like Tom Riddle.

Tom has long since ceased expecting anything for his birthday, just as he has long since ceased hoping for his father - any family member, really - to come and whisk him away from the horrible gloomy place that is Wool's Orphanage.

And yet, Tom found himself acting decidedly odd from the moment he woke up at his usual 7am sharp in the morning. All throughout the day, Tom often caught himself fidgeting slightly, a most aggravating habit for the usually composed boy, one that he had somehow developed since waking up this morning. Aside from the restless unconscious gestures that suddenly started plaguing Tom was the inexplicable nervous, almost excited, fluttering in his chest that left him somewhat breathless for what he couldn't say.

Until, that is, he spotted a ghostlike beast with hellfire eyes emerge from out of the fog, preceded by a deep rumbling purr. Tom's eyes widened in fascination as upon a closer examination, the ghostlike beast is not, in fact, a beast but a pale, sleek, unusually streamlined car with fiery red headlights instead. A car that is very much different from the ones Tom glimpses on his way to school and church. Despite their essential similar purposes, the commonly seen ungainly, black boxes on wheels seem like a completely different, inferior animal when compared to this pale beast. Tom felt the perpetual excitement he seemed to have been feeling the entire day grow as the pale car stopped right outside the tall, rusting iron gates.

Unconsciously, Tom found himself holding his breath as he stared unblinkingly at the car door facing the gates smoothly swung open to reveal one long leg wrapped in cream linen tucked into a shiny brown leather riding boot and then shortly afterwards a tall lithe figure draped in a fitted, eye-catching dark emerald green wool overcoat came fully into view. The eccentric emerald coat contrasted aesthetically with the shock of darkly red hair reminiscent of mulled wine that fell like a waterfall down the slim emerald clad back. Unfortunately, Tom could not make out the figure's face as it was cast in the shadow of the matching emerald green felt hat perched rakishly atop that richly red mane. The figure was like a splash of color on an otherwise monochrome painting, or Tom's rather dreary, if young, life. 

Tom had seen quite a fair share of people come to the orphanage on adoption days. Most were couples and none were as flamboyant as the figure that casually strolled through the rusting gates. Tom tried to push down the flutter of excitement he felt, dismayed that he was not as desensitized at the prospect of a potential adopter than he had thought. But then again none were as strange (captivating) as this one.

.

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"Don't you think it would have been less conspicuous if you had your steed disguise as a car that's not supposed to be manufactured for quite some decades?" The young man sprawled out in the backseat of said car rolled his eyes at his long-time companion sitting up front in the driver's seat.

"Unfortunately, cars don't improve on its aesthetics until the later half of the 20th century. I won't be caught dead in the primitive things they are making now. Besides, I recall that I'm not the only one enamoured with modern conveniences." Smirking, the rather cadaverous, older gentleman in a stiff black suit met eyes with the young man in the mirror.

"Touché. I suppose no one can see the car?"

"Oh they can see it alright. In all its glory too. Only they won't think too much on the specifics, distracted as they are by its - ah - beauty. I'm doing these ignorants a favor, really." The older looking man's smirk widened in self-satisfaction.

"I'm sure." Though the young man rolled his eyes yet again, a fond smile tugged up the right corner of his mouth though it soon disappeared on a sigh. "Oh dear, I don't feel quite ready for this."

"You've only had 700+ years to get ready." Now it was the older man's turn to roll his eyes. "A blink in existence for one such as I and in turn you but I am well aware that you have not yet abandoned your silly human notions, my Master."

"And I am well aware of what you think of my human tendencies, Death." Snorting exasperatedly but in a great deal higher spirits than before, the young man wandlessly transfigured his emerald cloak into a more mundane overcoat and felt hat of the same color as he sensed their destination drawing closer and finally to a stop.

Despite his reservations, one Hadrian James Peverell, formerly Harry James Potter, could not help the rush of eagerness he felt when he laid eyes on the forbidding grey structure of Wool's Orphanage, and the quarry he seek within its walls. Without further hesitation, he stepped out of the car and towards the boy who had grown up to become his sworn enemy in another life but who will instead grow up to become his other half, soul mate in this life.

.

.

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"Yes, his name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I apologize for the mix up and delay but as his closest living and qualified relative, I have come to take Tom under my care."

Mrs. Cole looked at the striking young man sitting across from her desk in one of the two uncomfortable high back guest chairs. He had caused quite a stir with the other matrons and children when he glided in through the front doors. And no wonder, for despite his young age, not even twenty she suspects, he had a commanding presence and casual confidence about him that would cause many older men accustomed to positions of power to raise their eyebrows. And combine that with his physical attributes and Mrs. Cole is sure that he is unable to walk anywhere without turning heads.

Indeed, as she looked into impossibly vibrant green eyes undiluted by any other color, Mrs. Cole can't help thinking that Hadrian James Peverell - and what a strange, yet grand name that was - can't possibly be human. A melodious voice flowed from pale lips which curved in a way that appear strangely cruel despite its cupid bow shape. Long dark hair, the uncommon color of fine mulled wine, appeared a glossy black in the dark but glowed like embers under the light. It contrasted perfectly against the dark emerald green coat and the finely cut cream colored suit. The expensive looking ensemble, though not of any style she was familiar with, complemented the young man's sharply sculpted aristocratic features. 

Without a doubt, to anyone who looked at him, Hadrian J. Peverell looked the part of the wealthy blue blooded aristocrat he was this life. But for one who has lived as long and has seen all types of characters as Mrs. Cole, there is an instinctual feeling of the otherworldly that emanate from the young man sitting across from her like something tangible. Perhaps it was the witch eyes she dare not meet, the equally ensnaring siren-like tones or even the features that appear too sculpted and symmetrical to be human. She could not quite explain the feeling, but for once she was glad she had not been drinking, her mind unclouded by alcohol.

Shaking out of the reverie she had fallen into and not daring to look again, Mrs. Cole asked tentatively, "Mr. Peverell, it's not that I don't believe you, but a document proving your relations with Tom would be appreciated. Formalities you know..." Mrs. Cole certainly had no desire to make things difficult for this intimidatingly beautiful man, nor did she truly care for Tom Riddle's well-being, but duty and the law called for some sense of caution.

"Of course, Mrs. Cole. I assure you, I have come prepared." Smoothly, the young man retrieved a sheet of paper from a thin brown leather briefcase that Mrs. Cole was sure had not been on the man before.

Taking the paper, Mrs. Cole suddenly felt a feeling of calm acceptance wash over her. "Yes, yes. All seems to be in order, Mr. Peverell. I do apologize for the inconvenience, I will have one of the girls lead you to Tom right away. Martha!" Dazedly making her way towards the door, Mrs. Cole never noticed that the sheet she clutched in her hand is in fact blank, nor did she notice that a file marked "Tom Riddle" swooped out of her locked file cabinet and into her mysterious visitor's thin briefcase, which proceeded to disappear into thin air, taking the illegally appropriated file with it.

Smirking, Harry followed the blushing young helper, Martha, down the narrow and dim hallway. Dumbledore did have good ideas on occasion.

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Among the orphans, Tom was the only one who had a room all to himself. None of the orphans felt safe to sleep near him at night ever since strange things began to occur around Tom since he was little more than three years of age. And especially not since the incident with Billy and his rabbit not even a year ago.

He didn't really understand how he could do the things he could. But he knew that everyone around him feared him. Even before he could truly do the things he were capable of. He remembered how the matrons gossiped on how strangely quiet he had been as a babe, how unsettling his stare was. The feelings of discomfort only escalated to fear and loath when he could make bad things happen when he was upset. Hurt those who had hurt him. But no one could ever prove it was him.

From the first accidental angry burst, he had managed to gain a level of control that allowed him to make things happen on will rather than rely on strong emotions. His abnormal level of control in addition to his almost instinctual ability to make use of his outer appearance of an innocently angelic child allowed him to satisfy his vindictive streak without any repercussions. Of course, as he was young yet, he was not completely able to keep from unsettling others as was evident in the two instances of failed adoption.

While he wasn't like other children, for a time he too had wished for a family. And if he was completely honest, the desire to be accepted had only grown stronger. So too had his hate and suspicions of others. Rejection did not cause him to stifle his special abilities, instead, it only caused him to want to stand above them. He was not at fault for being more special, different, better than the rest. They were at fault for their ugly jealousy and ignorance. They were wrong to treat him the way they did and he would make sure of that.

Clutching his worn and only blanket, his head laying unhappily on a stiff old pillow, Tom stared blankly at the opposite wall while he tried ignoring the gnawing hunger pangs. Tears pooled in his eyes despite his best efforts. He hated it here in the orphanage. From the judging matrons to the cruel, dimwitted children. He hated his mother too. He had heard it all from the matrons, how she had died and left him here. At first he had dreamt of his father taking him away, for surely his father must be alive and just didn't know where Tom was. Tom had waited. Only to be met with disappointment as time passed and he grew older while the conditions in the orphanage only worsened. He had then tried to get adopted, but after the first two disastrous times he had given up on that route as well. Still, he couldn't help but continue wishing that someone would come and take him away.

And then someone was knocking at his door, followed soon after by the familiar voice of Martha announcing he had a visitor. The door swung open to reveal a tall slender figure.

From his vantage point, the first thing Tom saw were a pair of highly polished quality brown leather riding boots.

"Hello, Tom." A melodious voice, colored with warmth and fondness that it made Tom tremble.

Raising his head sharply, Tom was finally able to make out the features of the stranger that had so fully captivated him with just a brief glance not long before. He couldn't help but to suck in his next breath sharply.

Despite himself, Tom couldn't help but wonder, was this beautiful person here to adopt him? His heart pounded just a beat faster as the inexplicable low thrum of excitement that had been building since this morning made itself more noticeable. He was unlike anyone he has ever seen before. It wasn't just the way he dressed and looked but his overall presence as if he was from another world entirely.

Suddenly feeling shy at having those luminous eyes focused entirely on him, Tom ducked his head and murmured back a "Hello." For once, the innocently angelic act was not merely a calculated means to an end.

But just as quickly, Tom raised his eyes back up to stare fixatedly at that handsome face. "Who are you?"

The lovely stranger knelt down in front of Tom and where he had sat up on the cot he had been resting on, completely disregarding his fine clothes, bringing with him a scent of fresh lilies and summer sunshine, a most peculiar scent in the middle of winter. "My name is Hadrian James Peverell, but you can call me Harry. I'm so terribly sorry for being late, but unexpected circumstances caused me to delay in finding you and your mother."

When Harry mentioned the 'unexpected circumstances' those normally vibrant greens darkened into the green of deep, ancient forests, pervaded with unknown danger.

Too surprised to take notice of the slight shift in Harry, Tom forgot all about the uncharacteristic shyness that overcame him just now. "You knew my mother?"

With a look of regret, the stranger, Harry softly explained "Not personally, no, but I am a distant relative of your mother's family, the Gaunt family. It's unfortunate what they have been reduced to, mad and abusive that they are they are unfit to raise a child. And before you ask, I don't know your father personally either, only that he would have nothing to do with your mother and magic after the effects of the love potion he was on wore off."

"Wh-what? Magic?" Shocked and wide-eyed, Tom chose to focus on the only thing he could at the moment.

Smiling wryly, Harry asked, "Haven't you ever wonder what it is you could do and others around you couldn't? It's magic, and you Tom, are a wizard."

A feeling of giddiness washed over Tom. "And you, are you a wizard too?"

Harry answered with a mischievous smile and blue bell flames cupped in his slender longfingered hands.

Gasping with awe, Tom stared hungrily at the flickering warm blue flames and the beautiful man before him. Although it was strange to finally know that he had family out there, it was also disappointing to know that they wanted nothing to do with him. The hurt and rage though, was quickly overshadowed by the presence of the fascinating man kneeling in front of him. Although calling him a man might be slightly misleading. Now that Tom was able to examine him at a closer distance, he realized with surprise that Harry has barely entered adulthood, still considered a boy by society if not for his presence making him appear older than he really was.

"Are you here to take me away?" Tom did his best to keep all the whirling emotions from both his face and voice.

"Well, it's what I'm here for, to take you away to live with me. If you'll let me." Harry smiled, charming in its crooked imperfection. Unexpected in its boyish loveliness but the discrepancy between his outer appearance and inner character nevertheless captivating.

Tom stared with unnerving focus as he involuntarily clenched his fists, hurriedly shoving away the flurry of feelings Harry's words and smile had ignited. Even his distaste for the lack of control could not put a stop to how those feelings almost bubbled over. "Why? No one wants me. They're all afraid of me." Sooner or later Harry will send him back too. Just like before. The thought caused a surge of dark feelings to replace the warmth from before.

"I want you, Tom." Harry's green eyes were firm and earnest as they gazed into Tom's own dark brown orbs. "I won't ever be afraid or abandon you. You will soon know that we are more than just family. I could never shun the other half of my soul after all."

And while Tom did not truly understand the last part of Harry's words, he had heard the almost solemn vow in those words and they soothed the darkness living within him. Feeling a strange mix of satisfaction, vulnerability and determination, Tom firmly said, "I would like to come with you, Harry." Yes, now that Tom has laid eyes upon this fascinating man, he is never going to let him go. Indeed, Tom is a collector of fine things and Harry is the finest most beautiful thing he has ever seen. On another level entirely from the silly trinkets he swipes from the other orphans.

"Wonderful! I've already straightened out everything with Mrs. Cole so all we need to do is to get your things and then we can be on our way. Oh, don't bother with any clothes, we will be getting you an entirely new wardrobe." Harry's smile widened and his luminous eyes glowed even more brightly if that was possible, softening those flawless sculpted features into something even more breathtaking.

Tom found that he couldn't take his eyes away.

"No, I don't have anything to bring with me." Looking around the small plain room consisting only of a worn old cot and an equally creaky old wardrobe and desk, Tom comes quickly to the decision that there is nothing he holds in legitimate regard in this horrid place, and everything seems to pale when in comparison with the person in front of him.

"No? Are you sure? Well, alright then!" Draping the warm emerald coat over a surprised Tom and lifting him into his arms with a laugh, Harry strides down the stairs and out through the front doors, ignoring the matrons and children milling around in curiosity and envy.

Relaxing quickly in the warm embrace, Tom sniffed discretely at the clean scent of lilies and sunshine, much stronger now that he was closer to its source. Tom was normally more reserved and wary, especially with people he has just met. But for some reason, Tom felt comfortable, even safe, around Harry. Something about Harry drew him in and fascinated him on a deeper level than he could explain. The inexplicable feelings of belonging only deepen the longer he is in his presence. Tom's eyes darken in possession and he burrowed even closer in the coat and Harry's embrace. Pushing aside the confusion as it wasn't important, Tom thought to himself, Harry is his.

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Walking out the front doors of Wool's Orphanage in Harry's arms gave Tom indescribably happy feelings. He hid the childishly joyful grin, usually so uncharacteristic of his normal self in Harry's hair. All the other children and matrons were still watching after all.

Harry brought Tom to a stop in front of the elegant metal contraption where Tom had his first meeting with Death. Not that he had any inkling at the time of course.

"I take it everything went smoothly then, Master?" The cadaverous, older gentleman, dressed impeccably in a black formal suit that look very much like funeral wear, smirked at the pair as he opened the back doors.

"Tom, this is Mortimer, my friend and…subordinate if you will." Harry's pale lips curved in a rather peculiar smirk. His eyes glinting as if laughing at a joke only he was aware of.

Tom didn't know what was so funny but his attention was quickly captivated by his new surroundings. He looked around in covert curiosity as he sat beside Harry, his small hand clutching Harry's own. This was the first time he had been inside a car and he couldn't help the rush of excitement. He knew that only the wealthy had access to automobiles. And even among them, he could tell that the one he was in was clearly more advanced and superior, despite Tom's lack of knowledge on the matter.

After what seemed to be only a blink of an eye, Tom found that the scenery outside the car he was in had completely changed. What was once a dreary city constructed of grey - grey buildings, grey sidewalks, all covered in grey smog - had been completely replaced with the green of nature untainted by human activities.

They were now smoothly gliding through what seemed to be an unending sea of trees that line a long, winding dirt road. The towering trees formed an impenetrable curving canopy over the roadway, stretching and curving to create the illusion of a tunnel. The brilliant ruby red of the spider lilies that grew at the foot of the trees create a pleasing contrast against the emerald of the leaves and grass.

The sunshine that shone through and illuminated the leaves, the fluttering of birds amongst the branches, butterflies amongst the field of lilies, and the warm wind that carried the scent of spider lilies all combined together to create an idyllic summer scene straight from an oil painting.

For someone like Tom who has been surrounded by cement buildings and the fumes coming from automobiles and factories, the new place he found himself in was like an entirely different world. It did not seem real.

"Where are we Harry? Why does it feel like summer?" Unable to restrain his curiosity, Tom voiced his questions. It had only been a blink of an eye ago that the scenery had been that of London's grey streets in the middle of winter.

Smiling, Harry stroked back the rebellious lock of raven hair that had fallen across Tom's forehead. "We are currently in the village of Hartwell near Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire, so not far from London. The Peverell family has a summer manor here; you'll see it soon once we leave the forest. It's a lovely relaxing place. I much prefer it to our other estates so we'll be living here for most of the year. The entire grounds are warded to be perpetually summer so even during winter you won't feel any weather difference. It's also warded against Muggles, non-magicals, to prevent them from entering and raising a panic over the strange weather or anything magical that they might see. In fact, you'll find that all of the Peverell estates as well as many other magical locations are warded to be unplottable, meaning that they are entirely concealed from Muggle eyes and don't exist on their maps."

Tom's eyes widened in barely contained awe and greed as he thirstily drank in the information, not just over the tiny lesson on magic but also on what Harry revealed regarding his wealth. Tom had suspected Harry to be wealthy with the way he dressed in addition to his polished mannerisms, not to mention the car but he had not known to what extent. It was a pleasant surprise indeed for the orphan who had grown up poor to receive confirmation that his new life would not just be well-off but excessively wealthy.

"Most of the year? Does that mean that we'll be living elsewhere other times?"

"Mmhm. There's the Peverell Castle, the ancestral residence of the Peverell family, located in Northumberland, two summer manors - one here in Buckinghamshire and another in North Somerset, and a townhouse in London. We also have residences in Paris, Clermont-Ferrand, and Nice in France, Venice and Florence in Italy, and Athens, Greece - all have been in the family for quite a few centuries. However, I've recently bought residences in New York City and New Orleans in the United States as well. We'll be visiting all of them of course so I hope you like traveling, Tom." Harry grinned at the stunned look on little Tom's face.

Before Tom could even comment on the places he has only read in books, his thoughts were interrupted by a voice coming from the front of the car.

"We have arrived, Master."

Indeed, the tree tunnel had opened up onto a wide grassy field dotted with burning red spider lilies and yew trees as far as the eye could see. The previous dirt path had given way to a cobbled pathway which winded across the grounds and led to an elegant and impressive white marble manor of both Jacobean and Georgian facades. To the left of the cobbled path on the west lawn, Tom could see a stone bridge built over a gorgeous blue lake and leading to a stone pavilion on the other side. As they passed the lake, Tom could see swans floating across its surface.

It was a place straight out of a fairy tale or an oil painting.

Tom was absolutely enchanted. 

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Staring up at the stained glass dome ceiling of the grand entrance and the large curved marble staircase, Tom felt a rush of thrills, nerves, and a warm current of belonging.

This was going to be his home from now on. One of his many homes.

"Would you like to eat something first or skip straight to the tour?"

Before Tom could respond his stomach did it for him with a loud growl, causing the young boy to flush red.

"Well I guess it's decided. Graves!" Laughing, Harry called for the house elf in charge of the manor. "We'll have an early dinner tonight. Have it set in the sunroom if you would."

"Yes, Master Lord." Two soft cracks the only signal given as a stern looking house elf dressed in a tea towel emblazoned with the Peverell crest appeared and disappeared in prompt order.

"What was that?!" Still getting over the shock of a strange disappearing wrinkly creature, Tom gasped without his usual unruffled composure.

"Oh, that was Graves, one of the twelve Peverell family house elves. They are responsible for the upkeep of the estates. I'm sure you'll find everything you want to know about them in the library if you want. The library here is smaller in comparison to the main one in Peverell Castle but it has all the basics of Wizarding culture and magic theory that will be enough to catch you up before you begin Hogwarts. I predict that's the room you'll be spending all your time in now." Harry chuckled in knowing.

Tom's eyes brightened in excitement and curiosity as he trailed after Harry like an imprinted duckling. "What's Hogwarts?"

"The best Wizarding school in Britain, though in comparison to the schools in other countries I have to say the standards are much lower. A lot of magic is not taught there which is regrettable but the British Wizarding political climate is a lot more conservative, shall we say, than the rest of the world. Still, it's not a bad school when all is said and done. More importantly, it is a legacy left by your ancestor, one of Hogwarts' founders, Salazar Slytherin. I'm sure it won't be a complete waste of your time, Tom." Harry grinned at Tom's brief flash of distaste when he talked about Hogwarts' mediocre standards which soon morphed into one of interest when he brought up Slytherin.

"Slytherin is my ancestor?"

"Yes, from your mother's side. Not a very pleasant individual judging by records, but a brilliant wizard nonetheless. I'll let you find out more on your own."

Nodding, Tom continued with his questions, "Did you go to Hogwarts, Harry?"

"I? Perhaps in another life I did." Harry smiled at Tom's look of confusion but did not explain further, instead replied "I attended Athens' College of Magic." Twice in fact. Though Harry kept that to himself.

In response to Tom's wide-eyed curiosity, Harry continued, "It's one of the three oldest Wizarding schools in the world and begins at age fourteen as opposed to the eleven of most schools and students usually graduate by age twenty-two though that is relative depending on your focus of study. Alchemy and Healing, for example, would take much longer to receive a mastery in as opposed to Battle Magics. But then that also depends on the student's talent and aptitude. A lot of subjects considered illegal in Britain and other "Light" countries are taught there including necromancy, soul magic, etc and students are expected to choose and focus on one or more specific fields. It's an intensely competitive not to mention selective school as only the most talented students are chosen and "poached" from other schools. The way the professors teach is also difficult to most as they emphasize a lot on independent study and self-discipline and as schooling begins at fourteen students are expected to already know the basics and even be fairly proficient in their chosen subjects. You would never see them nanny the students the way you would in Hogwarts. Any help needed is up to the students to visit the professors during their office hours. It's a rigorous but wonderful academic experience and I occasionally give lectures there even now."

Harry smiled in nostalgic remembrance. "In fact, I think you would do quite well there. I have no doubt you would be one of the few students chosen and sent an invitation when you turn fourteen. If by your fourth year, you no longer find Hogwarts challenging or feel attached enough to stay, the College will be an option."

Tom was already feeling quite eager to go to Athens' College of Magic already, especially after hearing that Harry was one of the guest lecturers. But he wasn't going to admit that.

"What if I end up wanting to stay in the Hogwarts?"

Harry looked surprised before smiling and ruffling Tom's dark hair. "Then you"ll stay in Hogwarts. There's always exchange programs that you can take advantage of to visit other schools. Though I think Hogwarts is one of those that don't participate in these programs. We"ll have to do something about that." Harry trailed off thoughtfully.

"Which might prove challenging as most schools have a love-hate relationship with the College seeing as they like to steal the brightest wizards and witches for themselves. But the connections and resources that the College affords these schools are certainly nice compensations." Harry grinned fondly and with quite a bit mischief.

While they had been talking, the two wizards had already reached the sunroom located on the third floor. It was a large mansion with five floors and countless rooms. There was the occasional moving portrait of Peverell ancestors but most were famous and valuable Muggle paintings from mainly artists from the Rococo and Impressionist era such as Claude Monet, Jean-Honoré Fragonard, and Pierre-Auguste Renoir, which only added to the fairytale ambience of the manor.

What interested Tom, of course, were the moving portraits that they passed. One in particular was displayed in prominence at the center top of the grand staircase which ended at the third floor. In fact, Tom had already noticed it ever since walking into the grand entrance, as it can be seen even from the ground floor.

But it was upon closer distance that Tom could make out that one of the three young men in the painting was actually the exact image of Harry.

Three young men, boys really that looked not much older than Harry now, dressed in embroidered old-fashioned robes and posing on or next to an ornate chair with the Harry look-alike sitting, or rather sprawled, on it. They all had dark hair the color of mulled wine but only the Harry look-alike had green eyes. Despite the different auras each one emitted, their features were similar enough in that it could be deciphered with just a glance that they were brothers.

The one on the left of the chair had a melancholy air about him, hazel eyes gazing off into the distance while absentmindedly picking at the petals of the orchids in a vase placed on a stool off to the side. The one on the right had a serious and sensible look about him and was clutching a leather bound book to his chest, hazel eyes hidden behind spectacles. The one on the chair was the brother that perhaps drew the most attention and it wasn't only because he was the only one smiling but just the overall charisma he emitted that charmed anyone he came across. Much like Harry, in fact.

Looking curiously between the painting and Harry, Tom asked, "Harry, I didn't know you had brothers."

"Oh, this old thing. It's a portrait of my ancestors actually. Our ancestors, in fact. From left to right is Cadmus Peverell the second brother, Antioch Peverell the eldest brother, and Ignotus Peverell the third and youngest. You are descended from Cadmus through your mother. Myself, I am directly descended from Antioch, if that wasn't obvious just by looking." Harry paused slightly at this, an indecipherable look in his eyes. He quickly moved on, though Tom, who has been watching Harry closely ever since they first met, did not miss the peculiarity. He kept his questions though. He knew Harry had secrets -he still didn't know much about the other- but he will enjoy discovering them all.

Continuing smoothly, Harry added, "There are several other families descended from the three Peverell brothers but only through the female line. Unfortunately, I'm the only one to carry the Peverell surname now, being the last of the male line. But we won't get into that now. There's a family tapestry in the library if you're interested. On that note, there's actually a children's tale written about them and their forays into death and soul magic, though it has been censored and quite different from the original. Rather parallel to the situation with the Muggles children's book Grimm's Fairy Tales that I'm sure you've heard or read before. I'll give you the original copy of it as it is a fairly accurate and interesting read, written by Antioch himself." Harry smiled at Tom mysteriously. He had not been entirely truthful just now but sometimes the truth was better left unrevealed. Perhaps he would tell him when Tom is older, but now was not the time.

Tom nodded eagerly. He now knew how exactly he was related to Harry and was eager to find out more. But for now, Tom thought, dinner would do, as they stepped into a large room with a glass ceiling and walls which allowed the orange rays of the setting sun to stream in and nourish the plants, shrubs, and flowers that decorated the room.

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The fire cracked merrily in the ostentatious marble fireplace dominating the large spacious study.

Harry sprawled comfortably in a leather wingback armchair an appropriate distance away from the fireplace, enough to feel the warmth but not be overheated as he sipped at his usual evening treat of hot cocoa.

Suddenly the figure of an older, cadaverous gentleman materialized in the armchair sitting opposite from him. "Today went quite well." An amused observation.

Harry grinned in satisfaction and not a small bit of relief. " Yes. And I was so sure that I would have to do a bit more groveling to get him to accept me."

"Well you're hardly out of the woods yet. What would you even know about raising a child? Particularly one as….singular as Tom Riddle."

"Children love me. I'm sure Tom will too." Harry huffed indignantly.

"I believe the question is not whether he will love you or not. But rather you know what Tom Riddle's "love" will truly entail." A cryptic observation.

Harry paused in his thoughts, mulling over those words. It was not as if he was blind to Tom's possessive nature and he knew very well of the darkness that exists in the boy. And to be honest he wasn't too put off by it either. His only worry that of Tom's continued sanity.

A moment of silence stretched on for awhile before, "I am glad that you seem to have recovered from your previous depressed state, my Master."

Harry smiled ruefully. "I was hardly depressed. It's just been awhile since I've felt any excitement or challenge. Not since Cadmus and Iggy died anyway. And even then, they could only do so much to fill in the absence left by having half your soul hundreds of years yet to be born into the world."

"Well now you have the chance to correct the Fate twisted mistakes of your previous life, no?"

"Mmm. I won't be a victim of Fate again. You can be sure of that."

And as the Master of Death made his determined vow, his other half settled into his soft king sized four poster bed, sated on the birthday dinner Harry had surprised him with, drifting into dreams of fantastical magic and fond green eyes equally magical in their ability to bewitch and captivate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are confused or dissatisfied with Harry's unconventional look - Harry is no longer a Potter. As many of you might of already guessed, in this new life he is actually an immortal Antioch Peverell. Harry was reborn 700+ years into the past and his blood and body is of the main Peverell line. Obviously, that means he no longer possess any Potter features and looks nothing like he did in his first life as Harry Potter, except for the green eyes which I decided to keep out of aesthetic preferences but more importantly because Harry's soul remain the original and as eyes are the windows to the soul...
> 
> As for why I chose Harry's hair color to be the shade of an alcoholic beverage...just an artistic whimsy. Came across the new hair color trend of this winter in a fashion magazine and completely fell in love. I also want to clarify that it is nothing garish like the orange red of Weasley hair or bright anime red of Grell (no matter how much I adore that character). For reference I have attached an image of what mulled wine hair looks like:


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well :)
> 
> Note: the first half of the flashback is taken from Harry Potter book 7 so credits go to JKR.

_He lay facedown, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself._

_A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought, because he was lying, definitely lying, on some surface. Therefore he had a sense of touch, and the thing against which he lay existed too._

_Almost as soon as he had reached this conclusion, Harry became conscious that he was naked. Convinced as he was of his total solitude, this did not concern him, but it did intrigue him slightly. He wondered whether, as he could feel, he would be able to see. In opening them, he discovered that he had eyes._

_He lay in a bright mist, though it was not like mist he had ever experienced before. His surroundings were not hidden by cloudy vapor; rather the cloudy vapor had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor on which he lay seemed to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be._

_He sat up. His body appeared unscathed. He touched his face. He was not wearing glasses anymore._

_Then a noise reached him through the unformed nothingness that surrounded him: the small soft thumpings of something that flapped, flailed, and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, yet also slightly indecent. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he was eavesdropping on something furtive, shameful._

_For the first time, he wished he were clothed._

_Barely had the wish formed in his head than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and pulled them on. They were soft, clean, and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared just like that, the moment he had wanted them...._

_He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement? The longer he looked, the more there was to see. A great domedglass roof glittered high above him in sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace. All was hushed and still, except for those odd thumping and whimpering noises coming from somewhere close by in the mist...._

_Harry turned slowly on the spot, and his surroundings seemed to invent themselves before his eyes. A wide-open space, bright and clean, a hall larger by far than the Great Hall, with that clear domed glass ceiling. It was quite empty. He was the only person there, except for…He recoiled. He had spotted the thing that was making the noises. It had the form of a small, naked child, curled on the ground, its skin raw and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under a seat where it had been left, unwanted, stuffed out of sight, struggling for breath._

_He was afraid of it. Small and fragile and wounded though it was, he did not want to approach it. Nevertheless he drew slowly nearer, ready to jump back at any moment. Soon he stood near enough to touch it, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it repulsed him._

_"You cannot help."_

_He spun around. Albus Dumbledore was walking toward him, sprightly and upright, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue._

_"Harry." He spread his arms wide, and his hands were both whole and white and undamaged. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk."_

_Stunned, Harry followed as Dumbledore strode away from where the flayed child lay whimpering, leading him to two seats that Harry had not previously noticed, set some distance away under that high, sparkling ceiling. Dumbledore sat down in one of them, and Harry fell into the other, staring at his old headmaster's face. Dumbledore's long silver hair and beard, the piercingly blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, the crooked nose: Everything was as he had remembered it. And yet..._

_"But you're dead," said Harry._

_"Oh yes," said Dumbledore matter-of-factly._

_"Then... I'm dead too?"_

_"Ah," said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. "That is the question, isn't it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not."_

_They looked at each other, the old man still beaming._

_"Explain," said Harry._

_"But you already know," said Dumbledore. He twiddled his thumbs together._

_"I let him kill me," said Harry. "Didn't I?"_

_"You did," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Go on!"_

_"So the part of his soul that was in me..."_

_Dumbledore nodded still more enthusiastically, urging Harry onward, a broad smile of encouragement on his face._

_"... has it gone?"_

_"Oh yes!" said Dumbledore. "Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry."_

_"But then..."_

_Harry looked over his shoulder to where the small, maimed creature trembled under the chair._

_"What is that, Professor?"_

_"Something that is beyond either of our help," said Dumbledore._

_"Are you sure we can't do anything?"_

_"There is no help possible."_

_The creature behind them jerked and moaned, and Harry and Dumbledore sat without talking for the longest time yet. The realization of what would happen next settled gradually over Harry in the long minutes, like softly falling snow._

_"I've got to go back, haven't I?"_

_"That is up to you."_

_"I've got a choice?"_

_"Oh yes," Dumbledore smiled at him. "We are in King's Cross you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to... let's say... board a train."_

_"And where would it take me?"_

_"On," said Dumbledore simply._

_Silence again._

_"Voldemort's got the Elder Wand."_

_"True. Voldemort has the Elder Wand."_

_"But you want me to go back?"_

_"I think," said Dumbledore, "that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning here than he does."_

_Harry glanced again at the raw looking thing that trembled and choked in the shadow beneath the distant chair._

_"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we saw good-bye for the present."_

_Harry nodded and sighed. Leaving this place would not be nearly as hard as walking into the forest had been, but it was warm and light and peaceful here, and he knew that he was heading back to pain and the fear of more loss. He stood up, and Dumbledore did the same, and they looked for a long moment into each other's faces._

_Suddenly, Harry was struck by a random thought. If the only options were to go back or move on, would it be possible to choose when exactly to go back to? Wouldn't it be better if he could go back to when everything, both the good and the bad, has yet to happen?_

_And as if summoned by Harry's fleeting thought, the gentle tapping of steps followed by the muffled thump of a cane could be heard._

_The unexpected sound grew more audible as a dark figure moved out of the white mist that began to surround Harry and Dumbledore._

_The mysterious figure stopped before the two surprised wizards, revealing the appearance of an older, cadaverous looking man of indeterminate age dressed in stiff black funeral wear. A pure silver ring set with a white stone was visible on the hand that rest lightly on a polished cane carved from yew._

_"Well, now. I would say this is a pleasure, but then I would be lying." Lips pulled back in a grim mockery of a smile that the unknown man directed straight at Dumbledore, completely ignoring Harry's presence._

_"You. You are not supposed to be here." To Harry's surprise, the palpable happiness and beaming smile were completely wiped from Dumbledore's countenance, to be replaced with a deep scowl of displeasure._

_"Threw a wrench in your plans, I'm sure." The grim smile appeared more sincere this time. Turning, he finally placed his attention on Harry who was completely clueless at the turn of events._

_Looking Harry's scrawny figure up and down, "While the shell is less than impressive, you do have one of the loveliest soul I've ever come across. And I've existed longer than I can remember." As if in an afterthought, the man added, "As Death's Champion, I could have done worse."_

_Before Harry can demand an explanation for the discussion clearly being held over his head, he was interrupted by Dumbledore who seem to be growing increasingly agitated._

_"If you continue your plans, you will be upsetting the natural order. Death!" Dumbledore hissed._

_"On the contrary, Fate. I will be fixing it. If you have my champion follow through your inane designs, I will have to clean up the mess. Just because I am older than you can possibly imagine, does not mean I enjoy cleaning up the messes left behind by bratty children!" A sudden crack of lightning followed on the end of the man's incensed word, startling Harry out of the stupor he had fallen into upon hearing the impossible names of Death and Fate being thrown around so casually._

_Having enough of being ignored, Harry exclaimed, "Just what is going on here?! Professor, you know this man?"_

_Instead of Dumbledore, who had fallen strangely silent in comparison to the heated exchange he was just in, it was the strange man who answered him._

_"Harry Potter, I'm sure you've heard of me. I did help your ancestors create those three little objects you collected after all. You may call me - Death." Smile wide and nearly ghastly in the way it stretched the thin skin over the man's skull._

_Without waiting for a reaction, Death continued. "And do use your brain, won't you. Albus Dumbledore is dead and has long since moved on. I collected his soul myself. The being in front of you is the greater puppet master behind the tragedy that is your life. Dumbledore could never hope to compare. After all, unlike Fate, he is only a mortal." A dry, sarcastic drawl._

_"What?" Harry gaped at the silent 'Dumbledore'. He felt slightly numb from the revelations that kept dropping on him._

_"You might as well reveal your true face. You lost the moment that thought crossed the boy's mind." The strange man, now known as Death, smugly announced._

_And before Harry's eyes, the familiar figure of Albus Dumbledore melted away and a young, petite blonde woman, with blue eyes and glasses appeared in his place. Her hair was long and impeccable, as was her attire - a suit consisting of a white dress shirt and plaid dress pants. In her arms was a heavy bound leather book embossed in gold. To Harry she looked like a Muggle librarian._

_"You will be changing the future. You cannot change the past." The woman, Fate, directed her cold gaze at Harry. The disapproving frown she had only made the librarian look more convincing. "I refuse to scrap the entire book!" This she directed at Death._

_With a dawning sense of realization, Harry furiously exclaimed, "You're the one responsible for my shitty life? So, what, my whole life is just a book then?!"_

_"My, there's hope for you yet." Death snarked. "Down to your birth in fact. Lily Evans hated James Potter. If not for the manipulations of a higher power -" here a meaningful look was casted at Fate "- they would have never gotten together. But that was not allowed, you see, your birth was necessary." Death gleefully recounted like a storyteller recounts a tale, taking amusement from the nearly identical scowls on Fate and Harry's faces._

_"Yeah, well, I've had enough of being manipulated!" Harry was pissed. Even more so than when he found out Dumbledore had been keeping important secrets at the end of his fifth year._

_Death nodded encouragingly, looking at Harry in approval. "Which brings us back to why I am here, despite someone getting in the way." A nasty look was shot at Fate, who only returned it in equal spades._

_"What are you planning, Death? I'm warning you -"_

_"The main character here is Harry. So the question is not what I'm planning but what Harry's choice will be."_

_Under two very different stares, both equally no less in pressure, Harry made a decision that will alter time and rewrite history, changing the destinies of millions. Walking over to the ugly, wrinkled piece of Voldemort's soul, he bravely picked it up and cradled it in his arms._

_"I want to go back. Before everything started."_

.  
.  
.

He feels like he’s floating on something very soft. As soft as what he would imagine a cloud would be. Though, do clouds smell like lilies? He’s unwilling to wake, the lily scented cloud pulling him into a state of belonging and content. He stretches on his cloud bed, inhaling deeply that familiar and comforting scent. And when he cracks open his eyes ever so slightly to turn and roll over, he sees that his room is grand and opulent, ivory carvings, silk hangings, plush carpets, and colorful stained glass windows and lamps.  
   
He sits up suddenly, blinking into the bright morning light streaming into the open doors of the balcony.   
   
He looks down. Spread out on top of the fluffy pure white duvet is the emerald wool coat he had appropriated from Harry. It was where the scent of lilies, Harry's scent, was coming from. Everything else in the room is foreign and new. The bed must be three times the size of his old one, and far more comfortable. The room is enormous and as elegant and exquisite as the rest of the manor.   
   
He sits in a daze, only startling into full awareness with the appearance of an excitable wrinkly little creature dressed in a severely ironed tea towel.   
   
"Master Tom! It's being time for breakfast! Master Lord be waiting in the sunroom! Creaky has Master Tom's change of clothes!"  
   
He immediately leaps out of the bed, grabbing the folded pile of clothes on his way to the attached bathroom. Tom has yet to get used to these house elves, but they definitely seem more efficient than normal human servants. Though he wonders why the house elf assigned to him is so excitable.

It wasn't long before he was following Creaky down the hallway which is as quiescent and majestic as the rest of the house; the whole place seem far too luxurious for someone like him - is he really going to live here? 

Stepping through into the familiar sunroom, Tom finds the owner of this manor in the middle of the room at the round ivory table he had sat at for dinner just last night. Immediately, his attention focuses on the object of his fascination.  
   
Harry is reclining on one of the cushioned wicker chairs, looking as sublime as the rest of the manor; he slides into this tranquil greenery as if he was meant to be there, sunlight glinting off his dark hair, highlighting warm crimson. His attention was currently engaged on a little metal square that fit into the palm of his hand. As he nears, he sees with curious eyes that one side is white gold metal, but the other is bright and full of lights and letters.   
   
Catching sight of his ward, Harry presses a button on the little box before placing it down on the table, its surface darkened. 

“Good morning, Tom. Slept well?” Harry greeted the neatly brushed and dressed child following behind Creaky, with an indulgent smile.

“Good morning,” Tom replied quietly, not sure what to do. He had woken up disoriented and confused before he remembered being taken from the orphanage by the mysterious green-eyed-man named Harry. It still felt like he was dreaming. This was his wishes made true. Though, never could he have imagined the extent of it all, from his mysterious and fascinating new guardian to the elegant and majestic new surroundings. 

He watch Harry smile warmly at him, illuminated by the bright morning sunlight streaming in through the glass ceiling and walls of the sunroom. It made his chest feel warm and fluttery. Tom recals all the revelations from yesterday. They still make his heart race despite having a night to sleep on. He doesn't think the excitement will ever fade.

"Come sit, Graves made chocolate croissants,” Harry told him as he pushed the plate towards Tom across the round ivory table. 

Embarrassingly, Tom felt his mouth salivate. Before yesterday he hadn't even known he had a sweet tooth. He had nearly gorged himself sick on the huge birthday cake Harry had told him was a red velvet chocolate cake.

“We’re going out shopping today. For your clothes and some other essentials,” Harry said as he spread raspberry jam on a slice of toast.

Tom still felt uncomfortably wary that someone was willing to buy him stuff. Or give him birthday presents. He still felt shocked when Harry had gifted him Creaky as his personal servant. Tom had never owned anything of value and now he was dressed in fine new clothes and owned another being.

Once Tom finished the bountiful breakfast, he hesitated slightly before looking to the young man sitting across from him.

“Thank you for the meal,” he said and the same warm feeling bubbled up in him as Harry smiled bright and fond at him. As if Tom delighted him somehow.

And then Harry did something that made Tom freeze and his mind go completely blank. Harry bent down and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re welcome Tom.”

Tom stared after Harry in a daze as he lightly touched the cheek that had been kissed. It was the first time another had shown such physical affection towards him. He had seen it happen from parents towards their children and between married couples but he had never thought that he would one day be a recipient as well. There were no positive touches in the orphanage. Indeed, most were of the negative kind - punishment from the matrons, pushes and shoves from the other orphans. This all lead to his general dislike of human contact. 

Tom lowered his lashes to hide the dark possessive glint. However, he likes Harry's hugs and kisses, therefore they should only belong to him. Harry is his, so it's only fair, right?

.  
.  
.

"Everything ready, Tom?" Harry stood by the open front doors, dressed markedly different from what Tom has seen Harry in. Instead of casual dress wear that are cut differently and more figure fitting than the usual suits Tom has seen on Muggle men, Harry was clad in black high collared military style robes of indeterminate fabric that look very much like silk. Tom, too, was dressed in dark blue robes of the same mysterious fabric. It was the only other piece of clothing he found in his wardrobe aside from the set of pajamas and the set of Muggle clothes he was familiar with.

"Harry, why are we dressed like this? It looks like fancy bathrobes." His more so than the one Harry had on. At least Harry's robes could pass for a military coat.

Harry grinned in amusement. "These are called wizarding robes. Wizards have their own fashion that is quite different from the Muggles, as you can tell. I personally prefer Muggle clothes but well, since we are going to a wizarding shopping district…"

Tom's disgruntlement was slightly appeased by the mention of a wizarding shopping district.

Following Harry down the front steps, he heard Harry call over his shoulder, "We'll be getting there the old fashioned Muggle way this first time as you should know how to get there without magic."

Sliding into the sleek pale car, Tom caught the black eyes of the only other sentient being -other than Harry and his house elves- that he has encountered so far in his new home. Harry had introduced him as Mortimer.

Even though the strange man is Harry's subordinate, something about him has Tom feeling wary. For one, the man certainly doesn't fit the description of a subordinate or servant for all that he addresses Harry Master. In fact, Tom could detect the hint of amusement whenever he spoke the moniker. Not in mockery, but more as if he is sharing a private joke that Harry is clearly aware of judging by the same amusement he feels when referring to the man as his subordinate. 

Tom didn't like that at all. 

His discontent feelings must have shown on his face because he clearly caught the brief flash of a smirk in Mortimer's black eyes. It only had Tom feeling more incensed.

Thankfully, he was soon distracted by Harry who had been oblivious to the silent exchange and was enthusiastically pointing out where he kept the different breeds of winged horses - abraxans, aethonans, granians, and thestrals. They also passed by where the hippogriffs and griffins nested. Harry had always enjoyed flying and over the centuries he had gotten into the habit of breeding these fierce winged creatures ever since the first time he had been introduced to competitive winged horse racing. The exhilaration and energy rivaled that of quidditch games. 

The breeding of hippogriffs and griffins, however, came later when he had rescued pairs of both from an illegal ring of hunters. The descendants of the first two pairs of hippogriffs and griffins have continued to breed and flourish under Harry's care and have lived on the grounds of the summer manor since.

"We'll have a full tour of the grounds later in the afternoon when we get back from the shopping trip and if you still have energy left. I think you'll enjoy meeting them. There's also an upcoming winged horse race the month after next in March. We'll make a day of it. I haven't attended one in a long while, it's going to be exciting." Harry enthused.

Tom was excited as well. He had only caught a glimpse of the magical creatures that he had only thought to exist in story books and already he was awed. He hadn't known Harry was a breeder of any magical creatures but it was quite clear that Harry adored them and obviously had a preference for the winged variety of magical creatures.

The rest of the ride to London was passed with Harry describing the many strange creatures kept hidden from the Muggle world, referencing Newt Scamandar's bestselling book, which was incidentally published the year of Tom's birth.

Without utilizing the space warping abilities of Mortimer's pale car, they arrived in London in an hour and a half as opposed to the couple minutes taken the first time. 

Stepping out of the vehicle, Harry led Tom unhesitatingly towards the dingy pub and inn nested between a Muggle bookshop and a record store.

Despite his reservations, Tom followed Harry into the Leaky Cauldron.

The establishment was as dark and shady as ever, with a bar and a number of tables in the shadows of the corners. A few witches and wizards, dressed in the familiar bathrobes but in eclectic colors and cuts were seen drinking and having a late breakfast. Conversations were kept at a low murmur. It was Tom's first time seeing so many wizarding folk but for some reason he was hardly impressed. They were nothing like Muggles of course, but they were nothing like Harry either. He didn't know whether to be disappointed or not. 

Noticing Tom's confused and slight wrinkle of his eyebrows in disdain, Harry grinned, "I know it doesn't look like much, but it's famous for its luncheon and for serving as the gateway between the Muggle world and Diagon Alley, the main shopping district that we'll be visiting today. Did you know, when it was first open in the 1500s it was open to Muggle visitors as well? Though that changed a century later when the Statue of Secrecy was imposed and any magical presence had to be kept hidden." 

Tom listened to the fascinating bit of history as they made their way to the rear of the pub which opened up onto a chilly courtyard which Harry says contains the entrance to Diagon Alley. 

Tom was dubious at first, but when he saw Harry pull out a long grey stick -wand- Harry had called it, and tapped at the bricks, Tom was witness to the bricks rearranging themselves into an archway.

He gaped. Tom just couldn't help the unattractive (adorable) expression of astonishment. 

Reaching over to ruffle little Tom's hair before smoothing it back to its neat order, Harry grinned in delight, "Welcome, Tom, to Diagon Alley."


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well :)

Tom couldn't help the staring. Covertly of course. He would never be so plebian as to do so blatantly. 

But it was such a bizarre sight. Even more so than seeing men and women dressed in eclectic bathrobes buying and selling cauldrons and brooms and animal entrails.

Not that he had ever been in a bank, but aside from the sinister non-human tellers, Gringotts looked everything like what a bank should look like. From the gold veined marble floors, walls and counters to the high ceilings with hanging chandeliers. It was very opulent and rather imposing but unlike the understated luxuriance of Peverell Manor, it made him slightly uncomfortable.

Standing next to Harry in front of a counter taller than his current height, Tom inadvertently clutched at Harry's robes as he listened to the conversation currently taking place.

"That's correct, I claim Tom Marvolo Riddle as a ward of House Peverell. As his magical guardian, I would like to request for an inheritance test and then a trust fund to be set up on behalf of Tom." Harry requested succinctly to the goblin behind the counter.

The goblin reached long spindly fingers to the edge of the counter, peering over it at Tom who looked back unblinking. He was not about to show any timidity, raising his head proudly. A man like Harry is his guardian after all. 

"Very well, Lord Peverell. If you'll have your ward sign here with the blood quill." The goblin pushed over a piece of parchment and a black, long and thin quill with a wickedly sharp point. 

Tom caught the furrowing of Harry's brow and flash of distaste in Harry's vivid and expressive eyes. It wasn't long before Tom discovered why.

Though, the slight sting from the quill was largely ignored as Tom watched with interest as the parchment soaked up the bloody inked name and words began filling out the parchment. Unfortunately for his affected adult manners, he couldn't keep the flush of red from the tips of his ears from having to be lifted into Harry's arms in order to see the counter and sign his name.

Tom watched the bloody ink form many strange looking names attached by lines. To be honest, the magic inherent in the inheritance test fascinated Tom more than the actual content. He doesn't want anyone else but Harry in his life. Though, he felt very warm inside knowing that Harry brought him to the wizarding bank to sate his curiosity regarding his roots. He hadn't forgotten that Harry was also going through the trouble of making his ward status official in both the Muggle and wizarding world as well as setting up a trust fund for him. It was rather overwhelming and Tom had to blink away the sudden burning in his eyes. 

"Hmmm. Well, I guess it was too much to hope that the Gaunts would have still possessed anything in their vault not to even mention their lordship and Wizengamot seats. If they even possess any heirlooms from Salazar Sytherin and Cadmus Peverell, it's definitely not in their vault." Harry mused as he looked at the very nonexistent list of assets under the Gaunt name. "No matter, either way my Tom won't be in want of anything." Harry smiled fondly at little Tom who was still perched in his arms.

Tom returned with a small but genuine smile of his own. It's silly, but since meeting Harry and being adopted by him, the feeling of unease that Harry will return him to the orphanage melted away to be replaced with security in his connection to Harry. 

After all, a legal and financial link compared to a blood link was more secure in Tom's eyes.

"We have spent enough time here, I think. Are you bored, Tom?" Harry asked on their way out the gilded doors of Gringotts.

Clutching the parchment inked with his family tree, Tom nodded. He was eager to have a closer look at wizarding wares. They had only window shopped on their way to the bank and while that was exciting too, Tom wanted to explore inside as well. 

In particular, he had seen two branching streets on either side of Gringotts which let him know that he has only seen part of the wizarding shopping district. From what he had glimpsed, both Knockturn and Horizon Alley looked very different from Diagon Alley but no less interesting. 

"Harry where are we going now?"

Harry paused for a moment outside of Gringotts, "Hmmm, I actually have some business on Horizon Alley but we can shop while I take care of that."

Walking down the paved roadway of Horizon Alley was a completely different experience to walking down Diagon Alley. For one, it was much quieter - there was no shouting or hawking of wares from shopkeepers, no haggling from customers. The storefronts were also exponentially more orderly and tasteful. Fairy light lamps were evenly spaced on both sides of the street. There were even elegantly carved benches here and there to rest on. The customers fit into the environment, looking obviously upper class with expensive, finely cut robes, moving from shop to shop in a graceful, sedate pace.

Tom observed with wide eyes. As if infected with the atmosphere, he unconsciously straightened his back and lifted his chin. 

Harry smiled. "What do you think? It's not as much of a visual experience compared to Diagon, but it does have its charms, I think."

"It is most definitely more seemly than Diagon. Are there bookstores here too?" Tom was definitely of the opinion that he prefers Horizon Alley. The best part had to be the lack of...crowding.

Catching sight of the almost unnoticeable wrinkle of his nose, Harry grinned wider in amusement. It was adorable how serious and adult-like Tom was when he only reached his thigh and looked so huggable. 

Tom narrowed his eyes up at the grinning adult walking by his side. Completely unaware at the way his cupid bow lips turned down into a pout.

Harry couldn't help but to kneel down and squeeze Tom in a hug. Before Tom could react with more than widen his eyes, Harry had already straightened up with a slight cough. Pretending that he hadn't just completely lost control of himself. 

Tom watched as Harry's demeanor returned back to his composed aristocratic bearing. As if the brief transformation into a hug monster hadn't happen. 

It was just his luck that he would be stuck with a bipolar adult. His image of Harry as an elegant, mysterious aristocrat was completely shattered. 

He wonders why he feels so warm though?

Tom pressed his lips together.

.  
.  
.

"Hadrian, what a surprise to see you!"

A curvaceous witch in champagne colored robes swept over to meet them at the front of the shop, red lips stretched into a wide smile.

Tom was immediately on alert. He didn't like the glint in those eyes.

"A pleasant surprise, I hope. How is the shop, Celeste?" Harry returned with a crooked smile of his own.

"As splendidly as ever. Did you even had to ask? My new winter collection has met with raving reviews." Celeste delicately affected a demeanor of being affronted, though the amusement in her whiskey colored eyes gave it away.

"Forgive me, Madame Celeste, for questioning your art." Harry played along with an appropriately contrite expression, looking very much like a schoolboy caught in troublemaking. It successfully made the other laugh, the elegantly pinned blond curls shaking with mirth.

Harry must of felt Tom's reproachful looks because he stopped the bantering to introduce Tom.

"This is Tom, my ward and a descendant of the female Peverell line. We're here for a new wardrobe for him, both Muggle and wizarding." Harry smiled happily with a hand on Tom's shoulder. "Tom, this is Celeste, the manageress and respected designer and stylist of Azalea St."

"Oh, what a handsome little gentleman!" The glint in her eyes grew. "My new spring and summer collection are still in the works but fall and winter is still recent and in style..."

"That should be enough for now, I think." Harry nodded. Sitting down on a velvet settee while sipping at a cup of coffee, he began fiddling with the mysterious metal box Tom had seen many times now. Completely unaware he had just abandoned little Tom to a lioness.

"So how old are you, Tom-Tom?" Celeste began taking Tom's measurements with charmed strips of velvet, her assistants bringing in fabrics of all kinds and colors.

Standing on a low stool, Tom frowned at the women fluttering around him like butterflies. Even their robes added to the appearance, colorful silks cut in fashionable layers. 

"Don't call me that."

Celeste only grinned at the rather petulant response, clearly feeling the enmity Tom was projecting unconsciously and obviously amused.

It's hard to be threatening as a six year old, even for a future dark lord. 

"You know, I met Hadrian in Paris during a Muggle fashion show. It's all thanks to your guardian that I'm where I'm now, a Muggleborn creating high end robes and leading wizarding fashion. It's always what I dreamed of." Celeste's throaty voice meandered as she began comparing fabrics to Tom's complexion. 

"He's a good boss. It's hard to find employment nowadays. It's not just the Muggles being affected. Those of the lower classes in the wizarding world, the Squibs and Muggleborns, even halfbloods with no notable wizarding heritage, find it hard to be respectably employed. Though, this had always been an issue. It has just become worse with the Muggle wars and everything."

Tom listened with interest, though his face remained blank. It was the first time he could hear about Harry from the perspective of someone who appears to be well acquainted with him. It was both equally interesting and frustrating. 

After hesitating for awhile, Tom finally asked a question, "Harry's your employer?'

"Oh yes. Hadrian owns Azalea St. As well as all the other establishments on Horizon Alley. It's well known that the Peverell Lord at the time, had Horizon Alley built on a private stretch of land, next to Diagon Alley and the deed to the land remains in the Peverell family. Shopkeepers like myself rent the shop they manage so we all refer to Hadrian as our employer. He is what Muggles call an investor." Celeste responded matter of factly, as if owning a major street of the wizarding shopping district of wizarding Britain was an ordinary matter.

Folding the chosen pile of fabrics onto an elegantly carved dark wooden tray held in the arms of a young assistant who joined two other assistants holding their own trays with selections of handcrafted boots, Celeste smiled slyly at Tom, "Hadrian is an incredible catch. If he wasn't so secretive and so good at avoiding the media, he would be top of Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor list."

Tom couldn't help furrowing his brows in displeasure. He wasn't liking the idea that strangers are thinking about stealing his Harry.

Harry stood up from the velvet settee outside the fitting room as he saw Tom and Celeste walking out. "Everything done?"

"I've got his measurements and chosen some fabric selections that will compliment Tom's complexion. Now we just have to choose the accessories, my favorite part!" Celeste enthused, blond curls bouncing.

The next half hour had Celeste helping Tom choosing buttons, brooches, cuffs, and ties while Tom tried on boots of all styles but all elegantly handcrafted with Harry not being of any help. 

It was rather embarrassingly funny on Harry's part how Tom quickly picked up on the nuances of fashion while Harry still relies on professional designers and stylists to dress him even after all these centuries. Of course, laziness factored in a lot.

When Tom and Harry finally stepped out of Azalea St. with a promise to return for the new wardrobe in the late afternoon it was already a few minutes past noon. 

"Well, that was tiring. And I wasn't even the one being fitted. Hungry, Tom? The Fifth Park Place have the best luncheon."

Tom was tired and hungry as well, but also in a fairly happy mood. Though, he would have been less conflicted if he hadn't learned that he would need to watch out for any prospective suitors.

And as Tom sat in one of the gazebos that act as private booths in the Fifth Park Place, he stared at the interloper at their table, the tasty chicken salad in front of him doing nothing to improve his current bad mood.

"I thought I saw you outside of Fifth Park Place. How are you, Hadrian? It feels like years since we last met up." A handsome young man with bronze curls and caramel skin sat next to Harry. Mediterranean blue eyes looking Tom up and down.

"Don't exaggerate. It was last spring during your graduation, Zabini." Harry rolled his eyes at the interloper. But Tom could tell he was pleased to see the other.

Tom stared harder at this 'Zabini.'

"Tom, this is Dominic Zabini, former classmate turn student of mine at Athens'. Zabini, meet my new ward, Tom Riddle." 

Zabini raised a brow. "You adopted a Muggleborn?"

"Tom is a descendant of the female Peverell line. I couldn't let one of ours remain abandoned in the Muggle world." Harry replied matter of factly.

Zabini nodded in understanding and then added, "You should bring him around to my place sometime. Matteo is around his age, I think."

"I'll think about it. How's Alessio and Matteo holding up anyway?" Harry asked with concern.

"As well as can be expected for losing wife and mother. But, Sofia had been ill all these years and we all knew what to expect." Zabini shrugged dispassionately.

"Still, you have my condolences. I heard from Carriage Services that the service will be this weekend?" Harry knew Zabini wasn't too close with his sister-in-law so the indifferent tone wasn't too surprising. 

Zabini shot an unimpressed look at Harry, "Shouldn't you be knowledgeable about your own business? You know, I don't even know what Lord Peverell, who graduated at the top of his year at the most prestigious magical college in Europe, is doing running a shop for dead people." 

Harry only smiled sheepishly at the familiar complaint. He has heard many variants of the same complaint ever since he decided to take up running a funerary home as his main occupation. While he has a position as a parttime lecturer at Athens' College of Magic, everyone had expected him to go into politics, magic experimenting, or even healing. In fact, he has had offers from several European magical hospitals and magical governments' experimental magic departments. Not to mention, he has a seat on the British wizengamot. 

"You know I majored in death and soul magic. Besides, it's not like I couldn't experiment in my own lab. The Department of Mysteries is too restrictive for me. " Harry shrugged.

Zabini grumbled, "I also know you have a license in both healing and battle magic. You could have joined the hit wizards with me."

Harry nodded, "I admit, it would have been exciting. But, I knew I was going to be adopting Tom here and a guardian who is absent too often on missions wouldn't be too responsible."

Tom started a little at being mentioned. He had been completely drawn in by the conversation between the two older wizards and had nearly forgotten the displeasure he had felt at his private lunch with Harry being interrupted. 

Quickly processing what Harry had said, Tom pressed his lips together, pleased. 

Zabini looked surprised for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and letting a grudging sigh. 

"Enough catching up. Do you want to join us for lunch? We can head over to Carriage Services afterwards. I have been a bit lax with my shop." Harry flashed a crooked grin as he handed over one of the menus. 

The rest of lunch passed by in good food and discussion on the various wizarding occupations. 

Tom, didn't like Zabini, but he has to admit, from what he had learned about the qualifications for being a hit wizard, he knew that Zabini was not a weak wizard by any means. 

It was fascinating learning of all the different types of disciplines and jobs wizards and witches can choose from. In particular, Tom was most curious about Harry's specialty, death and soul magic sounded very mysterious and formidable, though Harry didn't elaborate too much. The more he heard about magic and wizarding society, the more he couldn't wait to actually read more for himself. He didn't like not knowing anything of the world he was now part of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think about the two OCs? I usually don't like other characters but in this case they are needed to flesh out Harry's character and background as Hadrian Peverell.


End file.
